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Sharing recipes, crafts and frugal living, the challenges and triumphs of parenting a neurotypical child and a child on the Autism Spectrum. Yoga Instructor said goodbye to her nightly glass of Chardonnay to give up habits that were not serving her purpose in life! The CocktailMom name remains, however with a new focus on healthy and authentic living.

10/01/2012

College Park Patch: Heroes Right in My Neighborhood

This article was originally published on the Greenbelt Patch.

Almost weekly my oldest son, L, who is on the Autism Spectrum has a new career that he wants to be when he grows up. His career dreams used to last much longer.

It's hard to explain his desire to be a soldier. We aren’t a military family, and we don’t know anyone currently in the military. He doesn’t even have a cool uncle in uniform that he looks up to, who comes to family functions. But when asked the “what do you want to be when you grow up?” question, the first thing out of his mouth is—soldier.

As school was starting, he met a soldier in person, during the onslaught of extracurricular activities that comes with a new school year. Here's what happened:

I am at the Greenbelt Community Center signing up both of my children for classes when a man in army fatigues enters the office. One of the employees offers to help me at another desk so that both of us can be serviced at the same time. While I stand a few feet away, the boys stay by the door. L’s gaze immediately hooks on this man.

As I look over my shoulder, to keep an eye on my children, I notice the man has a large scar running down the side of his head. L approaches him with his arm stiffly erected in front of him, his hand out to shake the soldier’s hand. The man takes my son’s hands in his and shakes it ever so gently.

I notice that I’m holding my breath for fear that L is going to ask an obtrusive question. ﻿Children on the Autism Spectrum don’t have filters and L will speak exactly what is on his mind. Often it’s not the most polite thing to say, but instead it is brutally honest. I'm, of course, worried that L is going to ask him about his scar or worse.

L looks the man in the eye and with a furrowed brow says, “Thank you for the work you did in the war.”

I inhale, biting down on my lip, hoping that holds back the tears that are instantly beginning to well up in my eyes.

The man is obviously surprised by this nine-year-old's respect and thanks him. L says, “Can I ask you something?”